Black Wolf
by Ashborn Dragonrider
Summary: Bishop is a lone wolf. He needs no one, wants no one. At least, he thinks so until he meets the Dragonborn. Based off my playthrough of Skyrim Romance Mod; all credit for the characters and most of the events go to the creators.
1. Part 1: Meeting the Dragonborn

**This story is based of my playthrough of Skyrim Romance Mod. I really recommend playing it, or watching a someone else play it. I really fell in love with the characters, and I couldn't help but write a few drabbles for it.**

 **I don't own anything but Astia. Everything else is property of Bethesda and other people who are not me.**

 **Rated M for violence and sexual themes.**

* * *

Bishop was familiar with Riverwood. Enough so that the people there didn't consider him a complete stranger, and he knew his way around.

But he didn't recognize the woman with the dark hair that came passing through that day...

Everyone she passed greeted her with a kind familiarity, as if she was some kind of princess.

He immediately disliked her.

When she approached the tavern door he stood beside, he couldn't help but make a jab at her.

"Ah, and who's this?" He drawled, his amber eyes lazily raking over her, unimpressed. She was pretty enough with her slim, curvaceous body and fair skin; he couldn't deny it. But he'd seen more than enough women like her; women who thought they could get whatever they wanted simply by batting their eyelashes. "I swear the villagers treat you like nobility. If you're looking for someone to kiss your boots, I suggest asking elsewhere."

She turned to regard him, giving him the same look of disdain. Her eyes were a soft shade of green, and now that she was facing him fully, he caught a glimpse of the long scar on her cheek. It looked as if someone had taken a dagger and sliced from just below her left cheekbone to her chin. Maybe that's exactly what happened.

She looked him up and down. "You're a tracker, yes?"

His eyebrows lowered. "That depends. Who's asking?"

"I am." She brushed her dark braid over her shoulder. "Are you available for hire?"

He crossed his arms. "What does a wench like you need a tracker for, anyway? I'm not going out to fetch your long lost lover that just couldn't stand to be around you anymore because he got bored."

Now her eyes narrowed. He'd irritated her; good.

"Yea, your dad," she snapped.

This caused a half smile to curl at his lips. "Well, at least you have a sense of humor. So what do you need a tracker for?"

She shrugged. "I could use someone of your skills-"

Bishop quickly held up his hands to stop her. "Whoa! Hold your horses, lady; I never said you could hire me."

She threw him a sarcastic look. "Well, I can tell you're a busy man, you know, holding up that wall and all."

He couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Alright. Let's say, you do me a favor, and after that I will decide if your company suits me."

She raised an eyebrow, her lips a firm line. "A favor? Really?"

He knew what she was thinking.

"Don't flatter yourself," he spat. "Not that kind of favor. Besides... you're not my type. I just need some help in retrieving something of mine."

"And what exactly to you need help retrieving?"

"It's my wolf, Karnwyr," he explained. "He disappeared while hunting a week ago. When I went looking for him, I found that some trappers had captured him. I've been tracking them ever since and their trail continues east of here. Now, I wouldn't need your help if these were just simple trappers. but from the looks of their trail now they've grown into a small army of bandits, and I'm not about to go stumbling into any ambushes."

"Very well," she told him. "I'll help you."

He was actually slightly surprised. He'd thought she might turn tail and run when he told her about the sheer number of bandits keeping his wolf prisoner.

"Great, we set out now!" Maybe, if he got lucky, she'd take the most damage and die once they were done. "But I'm warning you, if you try and treat me like one of your lackeys, you're gonna regret it. And gods help you if you try and order me around! I'm my own man. Got it?"

She just waved him off. "Yes, yes, now let's get a move on."

"By the Hells," he cursed. "When I see those bastards I'll make sure they suffer!"

"Karnwyr must mean a lot to you," she noted.

He scoffed. "What gives you the idea that you can actually understand the bond between a ranger and his wolf?"

"I've grown up with animals," she argued. "I had a fox when I was a child."

"Ah, she had a fox!" he sneered.

She glared at him. "My mother gave me that fox. She was very dear to me; she was my best friend."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Really? And what happened to your so-called 'best friend'?"

"She ran away eventually," she admitted. "I think she went in search of a mate. That's what most animals do."

He grinned slyly. "I hate to break it to you, darling, but I think that was just an excuse."

She glared. "You're hilarious, ranger. Now let's go rescue your pup."

He rolled his eyes at her, but he had to admit... he was starting to warm up to her. She wasn't half bad.

"By the way," she threw over her shoulder as they started on their way. "My name is Astia."

"Bishop," he responded.

* * *

The second time they fought together, (the first being the cave holding Karnwyr) she'd brought him to a camp of giants that had some heirloom of a noble's. He'd learned from a young age how tricky fighting giants could be, especially if you didn't use a bow or magicka.

He remembered crouching in the bushes with her, and they both readied their bows, aiming for the closest giant.

"Ready?" She breathed.

Bishop grunted in confirmation.

They let the arrows fly.

The giant stumbled as Bishop's arrow struck the giant in the chest, almost definitely it the creature's heart, and Astia's arrow struck him in the neck. He dropped his club, fell to his knees, and died on the spot.

"Good shot," Bishop commented approvingly.

"You, as well," Astia responded.

He didn't realize from that point that it would become a game. But after than incident, it was a challenge to see who could shoot the most monsters the fastest, and with the best aim.

Neither of them were winning.

He believed they were on the road to some city or other when she finally outright challenged him to a shooting competition.

"I bet I can shoot better than you," she said casually.

"Ha!" He laughed. "Did I just hear a frog croak? Oh no, it was just you."

She gave him an unamused look. "Well, aren't you a prince charming."

He smirked at her. "Still makes you a frog."

She drew her bow without another word, took a steel arrow from her quiver, and pulled the string to her ear. The entire time Bishop watched.

Just before she let the arrow fly, she glanced at him, gave him a condescending grin.

The arrow flew straight into the knot of a tree several feet away, obviously the target she was intending.

"This frog just hit her target," she said proudly. "Your move, prince."

"I never miss my mark," he reminded her.

He was certain she would try to force his shot to miss. She would try to distract him, or use magic to cause his arrow to fly astray. He waited for her to try something as he readied his shot, continually glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

But she just stood there, watching him and the target.

Her forest eyes met his just as he released the arrow. It landed with a thunk... a few inches away from the knot of the tree.

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"That, uh," he muttered. "That's never happened before."

She crossed her arms and smirked. "Sure it hasn't, Ranger. Either way, I win."

He stared at her in disbelief. He couldn't tell if he hated her, respected her, somewhere in between, or something else entirely...

* * *

It wasn't long before he truly understood how different she was from other women he had met.

She was dangerous, beautiful... more than that, she was the Dragonborn.

It wasn't until she killed a dragon and devoured its soul right in front of him that he realized it.

No wonder everyone regarded her with awe.

She wasn't just some wench who ran around swaying her hips to get other people to do her dirty work for her. In fact, she loved getting her hands dirty. There was nothing she wasn't willing to do, and it was thrilling. Thievery, murder, you name it. She would do it, and on a daily basis.

Knowing that she wasn't like the others did nothing to calm his growing desire for her.

He couldn't help himself. Not that he really wanted to; he was a ranger, a hunter, not a monk. He wasn't one to deny himself something when he knew he wanted it.

She was hardened muscles under soft curves, the perfect combination. Her hair was the softest he'd ever felt, and her eyes the most intriguing color he'd ever seen.

It didn't take him long to realize he wanted her. And he wasn't afraid to let her know.

However, whenever he dropped a suggestive comment or made a move, she either gave him the cold shoulder or fixed him with an icy stare.

That didn't mean she did not want him. He was certain of it.

It wasn't because he believed himself irresistible. He wasn't that egotistical. But he saw the way she watched him. Whenever he removed his armor, baring his chest to her gaze to stretch, sleep, or bathe, she never let the opportunity slip. He would pretend he didn't notice.

It appealed to the hunter in him. If she wanted to play this game, he would be happy to oblige.

But he would always remember that day in Whiterun...

She'd started telling him about her life in Skyrim, and in return he'd been telling her a bit about his.

"What do you think of my being a Companion?" she asked as she left Jorvascar after taking a job.

He smirked. "Ah, so you're a Companion. Are you proud of yourself, ladyship?"

"Yes," she said honestly, uncaring of his teasing. "Being a Companion is a great honor."

He nodded towards the twin Companions, Vilkas and Farkas, that watched her as they left. Or really, they watched her swaying hips as she left. "Just look at the way those two brothers look at you. They're nothing but two hungry dogs looking to make a meal out of you."

She lifted an eyebrow, a smirk curling her lips. "Oh, you mean like you?"

A predatory grin spread over his face. Never before had she initiated the flirtatious banter. "Now, now, ladyship. Don't tease me with your words or I may just take a bite. If those two fools think they can snatch you from under my nose, they'll have my dagger between their ribs." He met her mossy green eyes with his molten amber ones. "With all due respect, ladyship... you're mine," he growled. "Unless you would rather run off with one of those mutts."

For a moment, he thought she would glare at him, toss her hair, and continue down to the market. Instead, she paused, and she smiled. "I think I like you better," she murmured.

That was all the invitation he needed. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her up to him, wrapping a strong arm around her waist. "Then come here, and let's show them who you prefer," he purred.

His lips found hers, and she didn't resist. In fact, she melted into his embrace, her arms looping around his neck. He only had to wait a moment until her lips opened for him, and his tongue found hers. A low moan of satisfaction and desire echoed in his chest as she took his lower lip between hers, gently pulling.

That was it for Bishop.

He swiftly picked her up under her thighs and slammed her violently against the side of Jorvascar, and he kissed her again. She clung to him, her hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

He kissed her once more, twice, then a third time, before he set her down and walked away towards the Bannered Mare.

It gave him more satisfaction than she'd ever know that she was only able to follow after a few moments, and on shaky legs.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! Leave me a review!**


	2. Part 2: Neeshka and Casavir

**I have 2 more chapters written, but whether or not I post them is up to you.**

 **This chapter is up so quickly because of SmileSimplify. Thank you for reviewing!**

* * *

It had been a while since they'd been able to sleep in actual beds. And they had the money, so spending the night in the Bannered Mare seemed like their best bet.

The bartender met them when they came in, along with woman Bishop had never seen before. She had short hair, and wore leather armor.

"Hello, handsome," she said silkily.

Bishop ignored her.

"How can I help you?" The barkeep asked.

The woman took a few steps forward, into Bishop's personal space. "My name is Neeshka," she said, twirling a a short strand of hair around one of her fingers. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

He reminded himself that he could not get away with even hitting a woman in this city. "I think you're a pest," he deadpanned, turning his attention back to the barkeep. "We need two rooms, bartender."

The bartender shook his head apologetically. "I only have one available."

The woman, Neeshka, batted her eyelashes. "I think I can help you, big man," she flirted.

"Go away, flea," he snapped at her. "Bartender, are you sure there's nothing else?"

"Well," the barkeep mused. "Let me see, hmm.. I have a small storage room in the bathing area, but it might be a bit uncomfortable with all the produce I've got stacked in there..."

Bishop sighed. "I'll take it, with a reduced price for the inconvenience, and the single room, both for one night. Can the single room be well secured?"

The bartender nodded. "Yes! We had a problem a few months back, so I put some heavy duty locks on that door."

"That's fine," Bishop allowed. That would at least make a ruckus if anyone tried to break into it.

Neeshka pouted, pushing her breasts closer to his face. "You don't need to sleep in the storage room."

Bishop clenched his fists. "Do you have a bath?"

"We sure do. Water's still warm, too; only been used twice."

Neeshka refused to be ignored. "You don't need her, big man. I can wash your back for you."

He turned to her. "I already told you to get lost, flea. Maybe I should put you over my knee for being such a pest," he threatened.

She just giggled. "Would you? I like it rough."

Bishop wanted to strangle her.

"You're testing my patience, flea."

That was an understatement.

Beside him, Astia was regarding Neeshka with a mix of anger and annoyance. Her expression reflected Bishops own emotions at that point.

The barkeep scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Umm... okay then... let me show you to the baths," he said, walking towards the back of the Inn. Bishop and Astia followed to the back room, where a large bath laid, the only things hiding it from view were two screens. Not the best for privacy, but it would do.

"And here we are!" The bartender presented with a sweep of his arm. "Enjoy your bath, and your single bed is in the bathing room to your right. Enjoy!"

He left the room, and Bishop turned to Astia. "No one's getting in here," he told her. "Not without making a lot of racket and waking everyone up." Waking me up, he thought to himself. "I'd say it's safe enough. Grab your things. Let's get to that bath before the water gets cold."

She pulled a robe from her pack, laying it over one of the screens, and she started to undo her armor.

Bishop cleared his throat. "You can go first. I'll wait outside the door."

He stood guard at the door frame, and he could hear as each piece of her armor hit the floor, followed by the softer sounds of the clothes she wore underneath. When she was done, he could hear the faint splashing of her entering the bath.

The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen was naked, only a few feet away, separated only by a thin screen. Very few men could remain unaffected by that thought... and Bishop was not one of them.

He was almost considering storming in there and bathing with her, but his thoughts were interupted as an unwelcome hand crept up his arm.

He roughly shook her off. "Get _out_ , flea," he hissed.

It was a good thing Astia went first, he decided. If this flea had walked in on him while he was naked, he would no doubt have murdered her.

She gave him a flirty smile. "Will you stop calling me flea? I'm a thief, not a flea."

"You're a parasite," he growled. "Attaching yourself to a body to make use of it for food, protection, or whatever. Until you move on to another body." He met her gaze. "Or are caught, and get pinched to death!"

She removed her hands. "Okay, I get it. But you are what I desire in a man, and I would be a fool if I didn't give it every effort." She gave him one last smile.

Ugh. "Consider it given. Now get lost."

"I make a good bellywarmer," she added hopefully.

"Not interested," Bishop replied coldly.

She lost her patience. "What makes _her_ so special?" She demanded, crossing her arms.

"She just is," he snapped. "Now get lost."

"I'm better for you than her!"

Bishop was done playing games. He placed a hand on the hilt of his dagger, letting her know he was serious. "Get out of here now, or die. Your choice."

Neeshka's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I just want to be with you."

Bishop shook his head. "That's impossible. Now get out."

He already had someone.

"I could be good for you," she said quietly.

Bishop's eyes blazed. "You come back into this room again, I will slit your throat!"

 _"Fine!"_ She exploded. "I'll just go then!"

She left.

Just then, he heard the tinkling of water, and the soft sound of bare feet against the wooden floor. He turned, and there was Astia, body still wet, hair damp and wavy over her shoulder.

The robe she wore barely went to her knees, and was tied loosely to show off her chest. Her cheeks were flushed from the warm bath, and her lips parted with pleasure. She blinked up at him.

"That thief girl seemed quite taken with you."

He shrugged. "Must be my animal magnetism."

Astia snorted. "I've noticed."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that right?"

She rolled her eyes. "She came to you when I was in the bath, didn't she?"

"Yes."

"You're not going to tell me about it, are you?"

"No."

"Bishop...!"

He smirked. "Wow, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were the jealous one."

She scowled at him. "Sometimes, you just... ugh!" And she turned to get her things.

He couldn't resist whirling her around and kissing her lips forcefully. The feel of her body through the thin robe was intoxicating. She struggled for only a moment before relaxing against him, kissing him back, and he pulled away.

"I do love kissing you when you're angry," he chuckled. "Such spirit!"

She shoved his chest angrily and gathered her things. But he could tell she wasn't really angry.

If she was, he'd be bleeding.

* * *

He didn't recognize Casavir right away. It'd been a while; gods know how long, and Bishop hadn't been paying much attention to who talked to Astia.

It wasn't until he opened his mouth and spoke to Astia that he realized who he was facing.

"Forgive me for intruding, my lady," he said respectfully. "But I believe you are whom I am looking for. Are you the Dragonborn?"

Why was he here in Skyrim, of all places? Bishop hadn't seen this sad excuse of a man since-

"That's what they call me," Astia replied playfully, arching a brow at him in question.

Bishop crossed his arms in irritation.

"My lady," Casavir went on. "My name is Casavir. I have been searching for the Dragonborn for some time now, in hopes of aiding you in your journey to keep the dragons at bay. I would like to offer my assistance."

Bishop made a disgusted noise. "That's just great. If it isn't everybody's favorite white knight. I was not expecting to run into you here, but the irony of it all definitely suits you."

Casavir doesn't seem that surprised to see him. "I merely wish to assist her," he said stiffly. "Much as I imagine you are doing now, Bishop."

Bishop glared. "She doesn't need you. Go help someone who wants your holy righteousness; it's not wanted here."

Casavir crossed his arms, mimicking Bishops stance. "At least with me her moral aptitude wouldn't plummet to the flaming depths of Oblivion; which, I'm sure with you along, it has been sorely tempted to do."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Astia smirk to herself.

"You think a little too highly of yourself, Paladin," he said, his tone warning. "With you along, she'd get so bored she'd sprint and dive headfirst into those flames; anything to make her feel alive again."

When he glanced over at Astia, she was regarding Casavir with curiosity. "Wait, Bishop," she cautioned him. "Maybe he can help."

An almost-smile touched Casavir's lips. "I am pleased to hear you are giving it some thought.

She looked him up and down, and he had a feeling her gaze wasn't entirely innocent. "You look like you can handle yourself," she noted.

Casavir bowed his head. "You are most kind. I am skilled in the art of battle, and of healing."

"Tell me more about yourself," she urged.

As Bishop knew he would, Casavir eagerly launched into his tale, already all-too willing to do anything to please her. "I have traveled a very long distance to get to Skyrim. I met others along the way that have made a similar journey."

She cocked her head to the side. "Is that how you met Bishop?"

The almost smile on Casavir's face immediately faded to a frown. "Our paths have crossed a few times," he admitted.

"You two are clearly cross with one another; I assume you have some history," she said, interest clear in her voice.

It shouldn't surprise her, really. Bishop never got along with anyone. Not even her, but that was because making her angry was among his favorite things to do.

"To be honest," Casavir started. "He is nothing but a savage wolf, looking for his next victim. As a Paladin, I have sworn to protect the innocent and bring justice when evil has taken hold." He sent a hard glance in Bishop's direction. "I defend the world from people like him."

She smiled slightly, and Bishop was suddenly angry. Astia was his. He didn't like the way Casavir was looking at her, and that smile... it belonged to him.

"I hope you encounter good people here in Solitude," she told him.

"Actually, that brings up a question I wanted to ask you," Casavir admitted. "I know we've just met, my lady, but I wanted to request your presence to attend the Grand Crystal Ball with me at the Blue Palace, here in Solitude. I am new to these lands, and I am unfamiliar with the customs of Skyrim. I was hoping you could offer me some guidance. I've been asked to attend as a guest of honor, and I was hoping that you would join me. If you choose to decline, I understand."

In all honesty, Bishop couldn't guess how she would respond. He'd seen her deck a few suitors for pushing their luck too far, but at times she was only out to help others. She was unpredictable. It was part of why travelling with her was so exciting.

Both men watched her closely as she considered his offer. "Very well," she told Casavir, and Bishop's stomach sank a little. "I will accompany you."

Casavir's eyes lit up, and Bishop wanted nothing more than to extinguish them forever. "You delight me, my lady. I am overjoyed that you have accepted my request. Might I suggest getting a ball gown? There's an excellent shop here in Solitude called 'The Jewel'. They have an excellent collection of gowns that might interest you. I'll let the owner of the shop know that I will compensate her for anything you wish to purchase."

Astia's smile widened. "Thank you, Casavir. Seeing to a lady's needs is very kind of you."

Casavir bowed. "Now, Bishop," he said, slowly turning to face him. "I need to speak with you."

Bishop wasn't surprised. He followed Casavir in between a set of buildings where they were out of the way, and unlikely to be interrupted or eavesdropped on.

Bishop was no fool, however. He'd seen Astia's stealth skills in action. If she wanted to listen in, she'd be listening in, without a doubt.

"You wish to question me about the Dragonborn, don't you?" Bishop accused. "You must be really getting knotted up if you're taking the time to speak with me."

Casavir shook his head. "It has nothing to do with her."

Bishop gave a 'hmph'. "Well, in that case, you can cut the bullshit. Otherwise you and I have nothing to discuss."

Casavir's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I am watching you, Bishop. I do not trust you, and she shouldn't either."

Bishop chuckled. "Really? That's the best you can do? You must be the hundredth lust-filled, lick-her-boots maniac that's quoted that phrase to me. Funny though, that was the same thing I told her about you: that _you're_ not to be trusted."

Casavir's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

A part of Bishop almost felt sorry for the poor fool before him. He wasn't a pure man, yet here he was, telling himself day after day that he was. Or perhaps that if he was 'good' enough, he would be cleansed of his sin.

But his sin was unforgivable, and he would have thought it would be unforgettable, especially to the man who had committed it.

"I know you're not half the saint you pretend to be," Bishop revealed. "You're the worst kind of liar, Casavir. You want so badly for people to accept the image you present that you convince even yourself that it's the truth. Tell me, when you look in the mirror, what do you see? I bet you've even brainwashed your reflection."

"Hold your tongue, Bishop," Casavir warned.

Bishop shook his head at him. "No, no, you're in way deeper than that now. There's not an ounce of honesty in those eyes. She's too good for you, and she's gonna see rigth through that mask you put on. You may begin the night as this 'saint' Paladin. But the man in you will want that wench in his bed, just as any red-blooded man would."

Casavir took a step forward, pointing and accusatory finger towards Bishop. "Do not speak of her that way!"

Bishop half-smiled. "Don't try and play martyr with me. She's more than capable of defending her own honor. She doesn't need you, or anyone else, to jump in front of her enemies' arrows. Your lust blinds you to that fact, and to the fact that she's too much woman for you to handle. No, she wants a man who's not afraid of making the hard decisions. And who will do what must be done. She wants a man who's a sight more honest than anyone who wears a temple's cloak on their shoulder, who carries himself like some kind of standard for others to look up to."

Bishop glanced up at the sky, gauging the sun's progress. "The afternoon is waning, guest of honor. I suggest you begin preparing yourself for the hardest struggle of your life. The hot, flesh-and-blood woman you'll have on your arm tonight. Now, be a good boy, and get lost."

* * *

It didn't take him long to catch up with her. She wasn't far, buying fish in the market.

When he approached, she turned to him. "What do you think of Casavir?" she said, a playful glint in those endless green eyes.

Bishop snorted. "Ha, look at the way he looks at you; it's almost as if you're some sort of prize ot be won."

She raised an eyebrow, a challenging smile tugging her lips. "Is that _jealousy_ I hear?"

Bishop crossed his arms, fixing her with a hard stare. "Now, now, ladyship. If I was jealous, he wouldn't be breathing."

She laughed, handing him a bit of salmon steak. "He's a gentleman, Bishop. There's nothing to worry about."

"Ha! He might come off that way, but he's still a man. I don't care how he justifies the lies he tells himself; he can't deny his manhood."

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he could see a hint of a blush coloring her cheeks.

"You're the kind of woman that gets a man's heart beating and the blood flowing," he murmured. "He's not going to be able to lie to himself about that. So you'd better be ready when he breaks."

"Will you be coming to the Ball?" she asked, sounding almost hopeful.

Bishop wrinkled his nose. "No! Do I look like some sissy pants noble that would enjoy that sort of thing?"

She sighed. "Want to fill me in a little about the bad blood that exists between you two?"

"No," he deadpanned. "I don't." He took a bite out of the fish.

"I'm going to go shopping," she told him. "If you like, you can come with me."

Bishop shrugged, throwing an arm around her waist. As long as she was there, he could bear it. "Of course."

* * *

When she came out of the dressing room dressed in that gown of green, a circlet of gold and emerald and that amulet of Stendarr around her neck, Bishop made a decision.

He'd be damned if he left her alone with Casavir the entire afternoon when she was dressed like that.

"You look... amazing," he breathed.

So amazing that he just wanted to pull that bow that held the corset together, so it would fly apart and let him see what was hidden underneath.

She blushed deeply at his words, and he felt a slight rush of pride at the thought.

"Do you think Casavir will like my dress?" she asked quietly, fanning out her skirt.

This was a new side of her. He'd never seen her act shy about anything; but then again, he'd never seen her put on a ball gown.

He smiled a predatory smirk. "He'll love it... and he'll hate, because looking at you will make his blood boil, and that's not something he'll be comfortable with."

She leaned closer to him. "Do I make your blood boil, Bishop?" she whispered.

"You'd make any real man's blood boil," he told her honestly.

"But you wouldn't be flustered holding me close on the dance floor?"

"Flustered? No. Thrilled? Yes. Excited? Yes, without a doubt. Would I lose control? Not a chance." He might be stretching the truth a bit about that last one, but he wasn't about to tell her. "Does that satisfy your curiosity, princess?"

She smiled. "Yes. I apologize for being so forward."

"My dear, you can be forward with me anytime," he assured her. "But your knight in shining armor awaits. I'll see you later."

"Alright," she allowed, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. He could tell she was slightly disappointed that he wasn't going with her.

He was looking forward to surprising her.

Watching Casavir chuckle nervously as he stared at her in awe, a crimson blush rising in his cheeks, and seeing her smile, looping her arm through his... it only made Bishop more determined to ruin that prissy knight's evening.

Casavir was in for a rude surprise if he thought he would win this time.

* * *

When he finally made it into the ballroom, she immediately caught his attention.

She was the prettiest thing in a room of pretty things. She was beautiful in a different way than the other women, with her scars and haunting eyes, and her uniqueness made her stand out like no other.

It seemed every male in the room had their eyes on her.

Casavir had her in his arms as he lead her in a slow waltz, and Bishop cut in just as the song ended.

He took her hand and pulled her right out of Casavir's arms as he had wanted to do for the whole day. "I'm here, darling, don't mind if I cut in, do you? May I have this dance?"

He'd obviously stunned the both of them, but Casavir was faster to react. "Bishop! What are you doing here?" He demanded.

Astia looked at him in surprise, and had yet to let go of his hand. Not that he wanted her to.

Bishop flashed a cocky grin. "Why, I'm here to rescue a flustering little boy from himself. Now get lost, Casavir; she's mine tonight."

He chanced a look back at Astia, and she stared back, her mouth open. Then, as he watched, she beamed at him. With that smile on her lips, she was as radiant as the sun.

Casavir was furious. "Bishop! Keep your hands off her!"

Bishop ignored him. "Mm," he hummed appreciatively, letting his gaze devour her with every passing moment. "I must say, you look quite sexy tonight. All that armor you usually wear covers up the best parts."

He pulled her roughly against him, his amber eyes burning into hers. He might have kissed her, right then and there in front of all the snooty nobles, had Casavir not interrupted.

"Unhand her at once!"

He managed to put himself between Bishop and Astia, tugging her out of his grasp and behind him.

"My lady, are you alright?"

She put a restraining hand on his arm. "Casavir, I- I'm fine."

Casavir acted as if he didn't hear her. "Do you wish me to cut this animal's head off, my lady? It would be my pleasure!"

He stumbled when Astia shoved past him, shielding Bishop. "No! Do not hurt him."

Casavir stopped, and his shoulders relaxed in defeat. "Forgive me, my lady... I have over stepped myself; I must profusely apologize. Please forgive me."

At his defeated tone, Astia softened slightly. "It's alright, Casavir. You don't need to apologize."

"Thank you, my lady. You are most kind." And with that, Casavir kissed her hand, and left the Blue Palace.

Astia immediately turned to him. "I didn't think you'd come to the Ball," she said, but the joy in her eyes showed him she was glad he did.

"These clothes feel like they're strangling me," Bishop complained.

Astia laughed. "After how angry you made Casavir, you very nearly were strangled."

"Ha!" Bishop huffed. "I would have taught that self-righteous knight a lesson! Standing up for your honor when you can do it yourself... you don't need him to defend you. You've gotten along just fine without him."

"So," she started. "Why are you here, dressed like that?"

It wasn't really that fancy, but it was good enough to get him inside.

"I got bored," he lied smoothly. "They wouldn't let me in if I didn't have the 'proper attire' or whatever the hell they were going on about."

She smiled. "It's sweet that you went through all that trouble for me."

He shrugged. "It's not fair if you get to have all the fun."

She took his arm, and together they left the fancy party.

* * *

He left her alone as she changed from her dress back into her armor, but when she came out she looked at him seriously. "What would you think of Casavir joining us on our journey?"

The question felt like a slap in the face.

"Then I'll leave," he deadpanned. "Simple as that."

Her brows lowered. "Bishop... can't you two get along?"

Bishop irritably crossed his arms. "No. Is there a problem with that?" He snapped. He'd had more than enough of Casavir.

That Paladin bastard had been around every time there was a beautiful woman nearby. He'd be damned if he let Casavir get to this one.

At this point, Astia started to grow agitated. "I thought you wanted to travel with me?"

"Give me one good reason why I should bother staying now," he growled. "Obviously you'd rather have him follow you around like a lost puppy."

In truth, he would stay with her no matter what, as long as he was the only one.

"I would never travel with that damn Paladin," he continued. "So what will it be? Do you want him, or me?"

Astia gave him an incredulous look. "Do you want to be stuck back in Riverwood?"

"You overestimate your charms, princess," he bit. "Don't fret; I'm not about to wilt without you. There are plenty of others who are more game than you'll ever be."

At that she recoiled from him, looking at him with shocked hurt in her forest colored eyes.

He couldn't be sure, but he thought they were shinier than they were a moment before...

"You are such an ass," she snarled, her hands clenching into fists.

"Then why do you want me hanging around, anyway?" He retorted. "I might as well start heading back now!"

"Because I want you!" She blurted, then scrambled for a moment to cover her slip-up. "To come along, that is."

He smirked. "Oh, you want me, do you?"

She groaned in frustration, grabbed him by the hair, and pulled him into a short, fierce kiss. "Yes, you bastard, I want you."

"Well, when you put it that way, how can I say no?" He teased.

She didn't bring up Casavir again after that.


	3. Part 3

**I've decided to post a part today, and likely another tomorrow, if I remember.**

 **This chapter is rated a hard M for sexual themes.**

* * *

He'd been enjoying their stolen kisses, their playful flirtation, their quick trysts in dark corners... but he was a man. And a man could only take so much.

He wanted her. He'd known that for a while.

She wanted him. He knew that, too.

So why did she resist him when it came to bedding her?

He knew what he wanted. And if she was smart, she knew it too.

It wasn't long after the incident with the Thalmor Embassy that they'd cleared out a crypt of Draugr, and she looked...

Her hair was loose, her eyes bright with excitement, her cheeks flushed with exertion, and her clothes were torn.

She'd never looked so damn sexy.

"A word, princess?" He asked casually.

She nodded to him. "I'm listening. What is it you want?"

He laughed. "You, of course. What else would I want?"

Astia just raised an eyebrow at him, fixing him with a look. "Oh, I guess it's off with the armor, then," she said sarcastically.

He smirked. "Now you're talking my language, ladyship. Come here, let me help you out of that armor of yours."

She blinked. "I was only half serious."

"And I'm a hell of a lot serious!" he declared. "Come here before I force you to come, and believe me, darling, that's something you don't want to happen."

She looked more and more confused by the moment. "Bishop, what-"

He cut her off. "Do you want me to sing you a silly love ballad? If you hadn't noticed, I'm not really that kind of guy. I take what I want, when I want. Life's too short for me to waste it on something that doesn't get me anything."

She frowned at him. "Bishop, hold on... let's talk this through."

"I'm a man of action, princess," he warned her. "Come here before I lose it!"

"What do you-"

Bishop was done playing games.

He exhaled slowly, a deep sigh of warm breath that he'd been holding.

Then his leash broke.

He was tired of dreaming of her. He was tired of aching for her. He was tired of waiting.

He wanted her, and needed to have her. Right now.

He lunged at her, his mouth coming against hers hard and fierce, swallowing her next words. His body pressed into her, and he had no doubts that she felt how much he wanted her, even through his armor.

She made a shocked noise, allowing the access of his tongue, and before she seemed to fully understand what was happening she relaxed against him, and a pleasured moan escaped her.

Fire flooded his veins at that sound and his eyes snapped open, staring right into hers. He wanted her to now how badly he needed her.

He caught her lower lip between his teeth, his eyes narrowing with satisfaction as she gasped.

"Mm, you sexy woman," he groaned, pulling her more firmly against him.

She didn't respond, only shutting her eyes in what looked like rapture.

"Am I stirring something inside you, princess?" he taunted, his voice low, seductive. "Desire? Passion?" Deliberately, he ground into her, eliciting another gasp from her. "I'll gladly stir it some more 'till you give in."

"Bishop..."

"You will be mine tonight, princess," he vowed.

A brief look of panic entered her eyes, a look he recognized as a hunter. She looked like a scared rabbit, facing down a wolf.

"No, I can't, I..." she trailed off, looking away.

"Your voice trembles and your eyes wander. You lie so badly it's a joke," he points out smugly. "You could be more convincing than that. I want you, now."

Forcefully, she shoved him off, her eyes blazing. _"No,"_ she said firmly.

He'd... not been expecting that.

 _"Fine,"_ he spat, picking up his bow and heading off in a different direction. "Damn woman, have it your way!"

With a pain in his chest he didn't want to acknowledge, he left her alone. He couldn't be near her right now.

He didn't even consider that the pain might be heartache.

* * *

They didn't speak to each other until the next day.

She offered him water, and he accepted. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Eventually, the started to return back to some semblance of normalcy. She would go on dangerous quests, he would follow, and afterward they'd get something to eat.

But it wasn't the same. It was stiffer than it used to be. It wasn't as fun.

After a while, Bishop decided that he couldn't, and shouldn't, take this.

He would try, one more time, to speak to her about how he felt. If things ended badly, he would just leave.

If they didn't end badly...

Let's just say he hoped they wouldn't.

"My lady," he said, catching her attention. "There's something I must ask of you..."

She set down the stew she was eating. "Yes? What is it?"

There was no point in dancing around it.

"Do you feel it?" He demanded. "Do you see it? This bloody desire that burns me inside out is driving me _crazy!_ I want you in my bed _right now._ There will be no regrets, and no meaningless words. Just you and me, in a place where no one can come across to disturb us."

Her mouth hung open in shock, but she quickly shut it, giving him a hard look. "You really just listen to your animal instincts, don't you?"

He gritted his teeth. "I can't keep it under control anymore! I. Want. You."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Meaning I need to get undressed and open my legs for you? I'm not a prostitute, Bishop."

That comment just made the fire in his veins burn hotter. "Oh, to Oblivion with you, woman! You make me go crazy! I need to have you, now!"

"Oh yea, ranger? You keep talking like that, a girl could get the wrong idea."

His eyes narrowed. "I should just pin you down on the ground and kiss you until you give in to me, princess."

She put her hands on her hips, glaring back at him. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" He stepped closer to her. "Afraid I would just disappear after I've conquered you, princess? Do you really have that little faith in me, after all this time we've traveled together? I'm going to stay with you tonight, like it or not, sweetness. And I will have you."

"Okay, yes!" she exploded, throwing up her arms. "I _am_ afraid. I'm afraid of what bedding me means to you. What _I_ mean to you. All the men I've ever met are only interested in a few specific things: strong drink, battle, and how quickly they can get a wench into their beds. I've seen your kind of man before, Bishop. I've seen the trail of broken hearts you've left in your wake. I don't want to be one of them."

He looked at her for a moment.

So that was why she didn't let him lay with her. Why she seemed to adamant to keep him at arm's length.

She didn't want him to hurt her.

"I won't leave your side, sweetness," he promised quietly. "Of that, you have my word. So, what will it be, yes or no? I'm not going to stand here all day."

She gave him an exasperated look, as if he was the biggest annoyance.

And she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"I do want you, Bishop. I've always wanted you."

And just like that...

The next thing he knew, he had her against the nearest tree, his teeth against her neck, her legs around him as both their pairs of hands tore at their clothes.

His hunting knife caught the underside of the shirt she was wearing, and in one harsh tug, the shirt met it's demise, baring her chest to his gaze.

He slowed up a bit then, letting his palms rest over the soft roundness of her breasts. He squeezed, and she made a small noise of shock and lust that went straight to his groin.

The buckles of his leather armor came undone one by one as she slid her trousers down her legs. When her last foot was free, she reached for him, sliding her hand down his pants until her fingers met his hot, hardened flesh.

With a stifled groan, his hips unconsciously grinding against her, he nipped at her throat, sucking some of the skin there into his mouth.

Dammit! It'd been too long. He'd be damned if he didn't make this good, for both of them.

She removed her hand and he growled in frustration. He'd never been so desperate for a woman's touch. She yanked his belt out of the loops, and with that final barrier removed, he shoved her back, pulled down his trousers, and entered her in a swift movement.

She let out a muffled whimper, biting her lip to keep quiet. Her fingers dug into his back, the leg curled around him pulling him deeper with the bark of the tree biting into the hand that was braced against it...

He'd never had better.

The knowledge that this gorgeous woman that he currently had pinned to a tree was the Dragonborn never seemed to cease stroking his ego. His pride swelled with every sound that escaped her.

Each thrust of his had her tossing her head back and sighing in pleasure as she moved against him, arching her back and taking him as deep as her body would allow.

It was just what both of them needed. Teeth bared, back to the wall (or in this case, to the tree), clawing, biting, rough sex that would have her walking odd for a week, and leave them both with marks that weren't going to be easily explainable.

Every movement drove him deeper and deeper into a frenzy, his need to brand himself into her so great that if a dragon showed up right then, it could just wait and watch until they finished.

There was nothing, nothing at all, that could get him off of her at that point.

He was panting, but so was she. Her hair was wildly flowing around her face, in her eyes and stuck to her sweaty cheeks. She shifted, and the change had him hitting a place inside her that made her cry out his name.

"Bishop! Oh, Gods, Bishop!" Her walls tightened around him, her nails raking down his back.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep a steady pace even as she shuddered and spasmed around him.

Her teeth left his shoulder, and her lips pressed against his ear even as he drove against her, wild and mindless with need.

"Bishop," she sighed. _"Please..."_

He jerked against her. "Fuck...!"

The sound of her voice, breathless, desire wrecked... it was his undoing.

He fell over the edge hard and fast, arching into her as white-hot pleasure tore through him. They sagged against each other, breathing hard.

After a few moments of catching his breath, he carefully set her down; noticing, with a grimace, that she had ugly raw marks from the tree bark on the spots her destroyed shirt didn't cover.

Astia didn't seem to care. She simply stretched, picked up her pants, and walked back in the direction of the stream, walking with the gait of a woman who'd just been properly ridden.

He couldn't help but smile after her. No, he'd never seen anything or anyone like her. He doubted he would again.

* * *

After that, it became easier, and it became harder.

When he wanted her, he could just take her if they were in the wilderness. He had yet to see her refuse after that first time. If they weren't, all he had to do was pull her into a secluded corner and whisper dirty things in her ear until she was dragging him back to camp, or anywhere they could be alone for a while.

The difficulty that came with the intimacy was that when they'd finished, and they laid together on the bedroll that had become theirs, he would hold her, stroking her back, while she sleepily told him things he'd never known about her before.

After only a week of sharing bedroll, she told him how she came to Skyrim. The full story, this time.

She laid her head on his chest, inhaling slightly. "I was born in Morrowind, actually," she told him quietly. "My mother was a former soldier, travelling with my father. We came to the Imperial City in Cyrodiil when I was very young.

"I was hoping to become a smith for the Imperial soldiers fighting the rebels here," she said. "My father was a smith. I knew I could make the weapons, given the resources and time."

"But you're not a smith," Bishop pointed out.

"Not professionally, no," she agreed. "When I got here, I learned very quickly that you need to know how to fight, or you don't live long."

Bishop half-smiled. "True. So you became a mercenary?"

She shook her head. "No. I was actually caught in an ambush on the Stormcloaks by an Imperial patrol while crossing the border, branded a rebel and sent to Helgen to die."

Helgen? But wasn't that the place that was-

Oh.

"I was on the headsman's block," she continued. "I was praying for a miracle, for anything that might save me. The headsman lifted his axe, and... the sky fell upon him."

Bishop didn't speak, too engrossed in her story.

"A dragon, black as night came down on the sentry tower, and set the town ablaze," she said. "It was just what I needed. I got up, and I ran. One of the guards helped me out, cut my bindings. We escaped before we burned to death. After that, I went my own way down to Riverwood, then to Whiterun. I got a job with the smith there, and I worked until I had enough money and good enough armor to go out on my own. The rest is history."

"How did you become so good with a bow so quickly?"

She flashed a smile, likely remembering the time she'd outshot him. "I had a bit of practice before I left Cyrodiil, and wandering Skyrim. And call me a coward, but I'm not fond of close combat."

She touched the scar on her face, and he understood.

"You're hardly a coward, ladyship," he disagreed. While he used a bow himself, he was also rather fond of his hunting knife.

She shrugged. "I'm perfectly fine with being cowardly. It keeps me alive. Sure, I can swing an axe as well as the next person, but I love my bow."

He could understand why. Pure ebony, incredibly refined and yet the handle was worn from constant use. It was no doubt worth a small fortune.

"Did you make it?" He asked.

She nodded. "Yes, I did. I saved up until I could afford enough ebony, and I built her in Whiterun, at the Skyforge. Best bow I ever made."

"It's good work," he commented. "Almost as good as mine."

She chuckled sleepily. "Smartass."

She placed a kiss on his chest, and she was asleep.

And it was hard... he'd never had anyone become this close to him. She probably knew him better than anyone alive, and it was unsettling to someone who'd spent his whole life alone.

He was the black wolf, the wolf without a pack. The loner. He had no home, and he didn't need one. He had no friends; he didn't need them.

But... he needed her.

She was insufferable, and frustrating, and annoying and she irritated him to no end.

But she was also brilliant, and passionate, and brave and her humorous nature made him smile more than he liked to admit.

He l-... _liked_ her. And he'd never liked anyone before.

Part of him hated it. The concern for her, the affection he felt for her... it scared him, but he'd never admit it.

He didn't know how to deal with it.

And this war she'd thrown herself into the middle of... it made him worry like nothing else.

It was true, she got herself hurt all the time. The two of them got into more scrapes than he could count, not including those that were war-related.

But war was something he could not defend her from. He couldn't fight an army.

She kept having close calls whenever doing work for the Legion, and it drove him mad.

When he demanded to know why she bothered with the damnable war, she looked at him in surprise.

"Why the concern?"

He sighed; she was right. He was concerned. "Ladyship, listen. I don't want you to fall to the enemy, but I can't defend you from an army! Though I hate to admit it, be even that wouldn't stop me from trying."

She nudged his shoulder playfully. "I didn't know you cared," she teased.

"You silly girl, you have no idea how I feel, and I'd rather keep it that way," he told her. "The less you know, the better."

She cupped his cheek, meeting his eyes. "I care about you, too," she murmured tenderly. "You don't have to keep anything from me."

He pulled her hand away. "Listen! I can't lose you to anything. I can't, and I won't!"

"Bishop..."

He shook his head. "Enough talk. Do what you will, foolish woman. You don't need me to defend you. I know you're strong enough to do it yourself."

Before he could say anything more, she pulled him into a kiss, running her fingers through his unruly hair.

She wouldn't die. She couldn't die.

If he believed that, he would be able to sleep easier.


	4. Part 4

**Once again, warnings for violence and sexual themes.**

 **Bit of fluff, bit or gore, bit of sexytimes.**

* * *

As the Dragonborn, Astia seemed much more interested in the ancient word walls that were scattered about Skyrim (usually guarded by draugr and other undead creatures) than gold or other treasures.

Bishop wasn't happy about it.

Whenever she found an ancient tomb, she would always wander in, no matter what danger might be lurking inside.

One such time, she came incredibly close to getting herself killed.

The outside of the crypt was only guarded by a few ghosts, and the path to the wall was rather clear. It should have been obvious that it was too easy.

She was heading up to read the wall when the floor opened, and she fell through.

"Astia!" Bishop yelled, looking down into the trap.

There was a splashing sound as she landed in the water below. She landed badly, her legs giving out when she hit the ground and she cried out in pain.

"Astia," he called again. "Are you okay?"

But she wasn't alone down there.

"Ooooh..." Another voice said. It was a male's voice, and it made Bishop's blood run cold. "Yes... yes. You've fallen for my trap! Greed makes a great lure. Odd you didn't die from the fall, though. Most do."

He had to get down there.

There was a wooden door and a pathway on either side; he didn't hesitate before rushing through the archway.

He could faintly hear the man's voice as he continued talking to Astia, so she was most likely still alive...

A closed gate stopped him, but he knew there had to be a way to open it. There was a set of stairs he hadn't checked; he ran up them as fast as he could. Sure enough, there was a lever. He pulled it, and ran back down.

There, he ran into another ghost, but Bishop was not in the mood for it. He stabbed the ghost through the back with his hunting knife and continued on.

He heard the man's voice again as he crept forward.

"Alright, let's see if we have something here to end this as quickly as possible."

The man, a mage by the look of him, turned his back on the cage that held Astia.

Bishop fired off an arrow into the bastard's thigh, crippling him. A quick death was too good for him; Bishop would be sure to make him suffer. Once he knew Astia was okay.

She laid on the floor of the cage, her clothes wet from the couple feet of water at the bottom. She'd dragged herself over to the cage door, and her lockpicks were in her hand, in the lock.

"Bishop," she gaped, just as the door swung open.

"You okay, princess?" He asked.

She hesitated, then shook her head. "I broke my leg when I fell... I can't get up."

With a snarl, Bishop made his way over to the groveling man as he tried to drag himself away, and stuck his dagger in the bastard's eye.

The scream that tore from his throat cut off when Bishop slashed his throat.

Astia grimaced. "Can you help me up?"

"You can't walk," he reminded her as he crouched next to her. "You'll only hurt yourself worse if you try."

She gritted her teeth. "Then what would you suggest, Ranger?"

Bishop sighed, sheathed his hunting knife, reached down, and pulled her into his arms, uncaring of her wet clothes.

"Hey!"

"Stuff it, princess," he told her. "And this is just a one time thing, alright? Don't make this a habit of yours. Next time, refrain from leaping into dark pits."

"Yes, yes," she grumbled.

"You should have looked where you were going," he scolded her.

She glared. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, but when learning a dragonshout, one usually has to _read_ the word first."

* * *

He'd never tell her, but it bothered him to no end how men in almost every town attempted to woo her, eyeing her hands to make sure she wasn't married before practically draping themselves over her, hungry for even a scrap of her attention.

Like... Cael.

Bishop _hated_ Cael.

He hated his voice. He hated how he was forsworn. He hated how he looked at Astia, and he hated how she looked at him.

Bishop. Hated. Cael.

Unfortunately, Astia didn't. In fact, she found him fascinating. She was dying to ask him questions, and just as willing to disregard Bishop's warning.

And it made him hate Cael all the more.

He wanted to grab the boy by the scruff of his neck, toss him on his ear, and show him exactly who the Dragonborn belonged to.

He hadn't been able to calm down since they'd parted ways several hours before.

He wanted to show Cael, and anyone else, that she, and her attention, belonged to him.

His ring was off and clutched in his hand before he could consider it further. "Ladyship, I have something for you."

She stopped in her tracks and turned to him. "Yes? What is it you want to give me?"

He placed the ring in her hand, closing her fingers around it. "It's not much use to me, but women love trinkets like these. I want you to have it. It fits you better."

She stared down in awe at the silver ring in her hand. "Bishop, I've never seen you take this off before."

"The only girl I've had my eyes on all this time is you, and you alone, princess. Keep it. And if some envious wenches try to come steal it from you, shout them to pieces for me."

At that, she laughed. "You're not _that_ irresistible, you know."

She slid the ring onto her finger, and that was all that mattered.

"I have something that could ward off unwanted wenches," she told him, and took the ring from her right thumb and handed it to him.

She didn't wear it as often as he wore his, but he still rarely saw her without it. She always wore it in battle. It was silver, like his, but with a small ruby in the center.

"And if any men try to take it from you, at least make sure they give you a good price for it first."

Heh. She knew him.

* * *

It seemed travelling with the Dragonborn attracted people from his past.

When they came to Falkreath, Thorn and his gang of thugs were waiting for them. Likely robbing those who entered and left the city.

"Well, well," Thorn drawled. "Look who decided to show his face, boys! It seems you come bearing a gift..."

His filthy gaze wandered over Astia's body, and a wave of possessive anger flowed through Bishop. He drew his blade.

Astia glanced over at him, giving Thorn only a fraction of her attention. "Friend of yours, Bishop?"

"A friend?" Thorn boomed, then laughed heartily. "Oh, no, my little mouse. Far from it, in fact."

Bishop stepped in front of her, hiding her from Thorn's eyes. "You've got it all wrong, Thorn," Bishop warned. "She's not a mouse. I'd say she's much more than that."

She was a dragon. And Thorn would only be burned if he didn't see that.

Thorn looked skeptical. "Isn't she? She is a woman, Bishop. Women are soft, and delicate - that's the purpose they serve. And this little mouse here will serve hers, on my furs tonight. Whether she likes it or not."

Bishop glanced back at her, meeting her gaze for a moment.

If he didn't know her as well as he did, he might not have seen the fear in her eyes.

True, she'd taken down several bandits, trolls, bears, giants, and dragons, but she relied on stealth and trickery when she fought larger groups, cutting them off from each other one by one.

That was not an option here, and he could tell she was worried.

They might win, they might survive, but at what cost? How badly would one or both of them be injured?

At this point, bravado was almost as important as armor. "I see your powers of observation have not changed, Thorn," Bishop sneered. "Still can't see past your own image, can you?"

Thorn looked amused. "Well, it was my own image that defeated you, was it not?"

That wasn't necessarily true; neither of them had been defeated when they'd fought last. They'd both come out of that fight battered and bloodied, unable to fight any more. Of course, Thorn considered this a victory.

"You claim to be of the best out there," Thorn continued. "But the truth is, you're a pathetic, scared little rodent; not unlike your company, here. Anyone can see that."

Bishop's eyes narrowed. "Anyone as vain as you."

"That, from the man that cares for no one but himself," Thorn chuckled. "Very well, let's take a closer look to our little mouse here."

To her credit, Astia did not shrink back when they all looked to her. She stared Thorn down, a determined fire burning in her eyes.

Thorn's eye caught on the scar on her cheek, his brows lowering. Two of the thugs gasped, and a couple of them started whispering to each other in awe.

But it was probably the dragon tooth necklace she wore that really gave away who, and what, she was.

"Oh, ho ho," Thorn said slowly. "What have we here? The almighty Dragonborn! Now this... this is certainly a peace offering, Bishop. The stories of how I conquered the Dragonborn will be told for ages to come. And then, once I am finally done with her, I will bring her in and claim the price on her head. The gold will have me - us - set for life."

"Is that so?" Bishop challenged.

Thorn smiled. "It is. I should thank you for presenting her to me."

Bishop pretended to think about it. "And what do I get for this?"

He could just _feel_ her accusatory eyes boring into the back of his head.

"Oh," Thorn considered. "Perhaps I will let you have some fun with her as well. After me and my boys are done, of course."

Bishop bared his teeth, flashing his canines in a snarl. "You wish, Thorn!"

He'd die before he'd let Thorn, or anyone else, touch her.

"Would that be wise, I wonder," Thorn murmured. "You do remember what happened the last time we spoke."

"You don't want to fight me, Thorn," Bishop cautioned. "It's been years since our last meeting. We fought to a draw that time, but I've learned a lot since then. On the other hand, you've probably stayed hidden in the forest all these years, being the 'brave warrior' you are, fighting bunny rabbits and squirrels."

Thorn glared in agitation. "Funny you should mock me, Bishop. You know perfectly well how easy it would be for me to simply skin you alive. With your own hunting knife, no less."

Bishop glanced around them. "Let's see... six to two? Yea, I like those odds. I should warn you though, if we're doing this, I'm going to carve my name into that face of yours. That oughta tear the heart right out of you, huh?" Bishop mocked.

"Go ahead and try it," Thorn challenged.

"If you're welcoming death today, the Dragonborn and I will accommodate you."

Thorn would not survive this, Bishop swore to himself. If anyone came out of this, it would not be Thorn.

"Kill Bishop if you must," Thorn said to his men. "I want the Dragonborn alive. Oh, the fun we will have together."

 _"FUS RO DAH!"_

And the two thugs standing behind him were thrown backward by the power of her shout as she punched the next man in the face, effectively forcing those three to focus on her and her alone.

The rest of them fell on Bishop.

And no matter how Bishop insulted him, Thorn was a good fighter. Good enough to fight Bishop to a draw even when he didn't have two other men backing him up.

Bishop managed to catch Thorn across the ribcage with his knife before he could pull his axe, drawing a line of blood, and he ducked out of the way of one of his followers' axes. He heard a startled scream that ended in a gurgle behind him, and knew Astia was, at the very least, holding her own against the other three. At least she had an advantage; they'd been ordered to take her alive, so they wouldn't be mortally wounding her.

One of them slashed him in the back, and he jerked forward to avoid the weapon. He almost lost his balance, but threw his momentum into a stab at the second follower's torso. The khajiit shrieked in pain, and collapsed in a heap. He wouldn't likely be getting up again.

He wasn't fast enough to completely avoid the next swing of Thorn's axe, slicing down his forearm to his hand. It hurt like a sonofabitch, but he didn't let go of his knife.

The other thug's axe whistled past his ear as Thorn's axe drew back and smashed against Bishop's dagger.

And Thorn may have been a bigger man, but Bishop had adrenaline and protective rage on his side. He shoved, and kicked Thorn in the stomache, forcing him backwards.

 _"TIID KLO UL!"_

Bishop felt the world around him slow to almost a standstill as the second shout left her lips. He didn't have to look to know she'd attacked one of the remaining two thugs, forcing him away from Bishop, leaving him facing only Thorn. He knew from experience that when she used this particular shout, she moved at least twice as fast as everyone else. It had saved her hide many times.

Thorn's expression slowly morphed into one of shock at her shout, his attention shifting to Astia. It was all Bishop needed to disarm him.

He was glad time was slowed. Thorn deserved a slow death.

His hunting knife cut deep into Thorn's throat, and Bishop kept pushing and cutting deeper until the bastard's head finally came off.

When he finally got back to his feet and looked around him, they were all dead.

"Bishop," Astia gasped, hurrying over to him and placing a hand on his back.

He flinched when her action caused pain to shoot through him.

Huh. He guessed the hit he took there was worse than he thought.

"You alright, princess?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Don't worry about me. Let me take a look at your wounds; take off that armor."

He smirked at her. "Well, well, ladyship. If you wanted me to get naked, you could have just said so."

She just rolled her eyes. "Ha, ha, Ranger. You should know by now that I have much better and faster ways to get you naked if I so desired. Now shut up and show me your back."

They set up camp outside Falkreath, prefering the forest to staying in seperate rooms of an inn.

He carefully took off his leather cuirass, noting that he'd have to repair it before hoping to be well protected in it again.

Damn Thorn and his damn lackeys.

She poured water from her canteen over the wound, washing excess blood and dirt off before bandaging him up.

When he turned to face her, he notice the beginnings of a bruise on her cheek, and she clearly favored one leg over the other.

He opened his mouth, but she silenced him by holding up a finger.

"They're just bruises, Bishop. I'll be fine."

Bishop frowned.

He was about to say something anyway when she suddenly slapped him across the face. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it startled him.

"That was for scaring me," she told him.

Then she untied her top, letting it pool around her waist.

"And what's this for? Not letting Thorn take you?" Bishop asked, slightly irritated.

She chuckled as she slid into his lap. "No. This is because I want to." Then she was kissing him.

 _Well_. That worked for him.

* * *

Some things never changed.

And some things never ceased to anger him.

The Dragonborn's charity, for one.

This was about the ten-thousandth job she'd taken from a weakling who couldn't do their own dirty work.

Only this time, she seemed to notice his irritation.

"Why do you always give me that look of disapproval every time I agree to help someone?" She demanded once they'd left the city. She was angry, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

"Why do you always agree to help them?" He retorted.

"Because I _can_ help them!"

Bishop's eyes narrowed. "Oh, how _so_ very nice of you. Mighty Dragonborn, roaming all over Skyrim and helping everyone in need while disregarding her own and those who travel with her. No one cares, sweetness, if any of us get hurt. They just want their stuff."

"I have to make ends meet in some way," she argued.

"Sure," he snapped. "Risking my hide and hair is a great way to go about that."

"It's better than being a tavern wench or fruit stand girl," she pointed out.

"Are you kidding me?" He said, incredulous. "The only risk there is that you might get your ass pinched!"

Her eyes flashed. "By drooling idiots that I wouldn't be allowed to break the fingers of? And I don't recall forcing you to come."

"Bah," he groaned. "Of course you didn't! That was of my own free will, right?"

"You could have left whenever you wished to," she reminded him.

Bishop grumbled curses under his breath.

"I do appreciate you tagging along," she assured him.

Bishop gave a 'humph'. "'Tagging along', she says. I've saved you more times than I care to count!"

"If you hate it so much, then why are you still here?"

"Because I love you, you stupid woman!" He blurted.

He froze, and she did too, both of them shocked by what had just come out of his mouth.

She blinked. Then she blinked again, and wetted her lips. "What?"

"I... _love_ you," he repeated through clenched teeth. "And I can't bear the thought of something happening to you because of some selfish idiot's needs..."

"Bishop," she breathed. "I-"

"Bah," he cut her off. "Like you care! Enough talking!"

He turned and stalked off, but she ran after him. "Bishop, stop!"

He stopped and turned to her. "Give me one reason to stay!"

"Shut up for once, and listen to me!" She ordered, looking ready to hit him. "I know you and I don't always get along. Hell, most of the time you drive me crazy. You're rude, inconsiderate, selfish, and unkind and you make me so angry sometimes I want nothing more than to wring your neck. I could name a hundred reasons why I hate you," she admitted. Bishop was about ready to walk away before she finished when she continued. "But I could name a thousand more why I love you."

Bishop stopped.

"You're witty, you're not afraid to be honest, and you're sweet underneath that hard shell that you use to keep everyone away. You make me laugh at the strangest times, and when I look at you I forget any unhappiness I may be feeling. When you touch me, or look at me, I feel special and beautiful in a way that no one else makes me feel. I couldn't have accomplished everything I've done without you, and though we have a tough time getting along sometimes, I wouldn't trade you for the world. I don't know what I would do without you. And if _any_ of that means _anything_ to you, then _that's_ your reason to stay."

They stared at each other for a moment, each contemplating what the other had to say.

"For the record," he muttered, taking a step closer to her. "That was more than one reason."

Her eyes sparkled as she smiled. "Shut up and kiss me," she whispered.

He was more than happy to oblige.

* * *

When he took her that night, it was different than the other times they'd spent the night together.

This time, they made love.

Instead of the fast, furious, uncontrollably lustful tumble they usually had, it was slow. Deliberate. No less passionate, but more meaningful than just desire.

He took his time exploring her body, worshiping every inch of her until she was trembling with need.

When he slid into her, she clung to him, her lips as his ear as she told him how much she loved him, how much she needed him.

When it was over, they held each other, and she slowly combed her fingers through his hair as they fell asleep, wrapped safely in each other's arms.

* * *

 **I might end it here, I might not. We'll see.**


End file.
